Here are two sample streets from the Hex Gazetteer I’m working on, and the factions associated with them. Every street in Hex is receiving similar treatment.
Tailfeather Alley
Colourful silks flutter in the greasy breeze, courtesy of the costermongers hawking rags and stolen clothes along the alley’s length. Some strangely tattooed, malformed people mingle with the crowds.
Encounter: A thrashing, skinless, tentacular blob – a Cancroid – bursts forth from the Anathemist Commune and rampages towards the party, gibbering in Aklo and leaving a trail of sizzling, poisonous blood. 1d4 Anathemists emerge after it.
Anathemist Commune: A small commune of Anathemists – warlocks dedicated to summoning and conversing with the denizens of the surreal dimension of Anathema – operates on Tailfeather Alley: about a dozen men, women, and epicenes of various species, elaborately tattooed, many with tendrils in places of arms, blooms of additional eyes along the sides of their heads, polypous growths, masses of waving cilia radiating from their backs, and other mutations, the result of exposure to the reality-warping energies of Anathema. Their rundown commune is covered in arcane graffiti; the windows display weird lights during the night. The leader of the commune is Zachariah Finch, a wild-eyed man with a mass of tiny crab-pincers sprouting from his face like a chitinous goatee.
Mister Pincushion’s Petticoats and Pantaloons: The curious specimen of the Fair Folk known as Mister Pincushion has claimed this shop as his own. An almost perfectly spherical elf whose body is pierced with thousands of tiny pins, whose fingernails are needles, and whose hair is an endlessly growing mane of yarn and other fibres, which he can grow in a multitude of colours, this mincing, surprisingly dextrous creature makes garments in this sprawling tailor’s shop, often with Faerie glamers woven into them, unbeknownst to the purchaser. The garments are of decent quality but bizarre cut; Mister Pincushion seems relatively unconcerned with wealth, and appears to be running the shop as part of a kind of working vacation from Elfhame “for a century or two.” Rumour has that he was banished by Queen Mab for unspecified indecencies. When not in his shop he can sometimes be found drinking at The Lady with the Bloodstained Fan on Carrion Street.
Tailfather Fops’ Hideout: The ostentatious hideout of the Tailfather Fops can be found here – a shabby but well-decorated rookery where the louche decadents of the Fops lounge about smoking black cigarillos and swilling absinthe between robberies. They are often seen strolling down to Heartbreak Street with full purses and swaggering strides. Their rookery itself is adorned with all manner of stolen finery, jewels, fine clothes, and other gewgaws. In the basement is a secret entrance to the sewers which the Fops use to come and go discretely.
Widdershins Way
Illicit apothecaries, dodgy alchemist’s shops, unlicensed surgeries, and similar establishments advertise with grotty wooden signs and tinted lamps shaped like hearts, livers, brains, and other organs, presumably to indicate specializations. Members of the terrifying surgeons-cum-street-warriors known as the Bonesaw Boys hang about here, selling illegally obtained humanoid limbs and organs.
Encounter: Trapped cobblestones (see Phenomena) often protect this street from the Watch and other non-thieves. There is a 50% chance of encountering 2d6 Bonesaw Boys who may menace the party demanding money, blood, or body parts.
The Mists of Memory: A sign out front of this shop has a
list of prices: “Minor Memory Modification – 50 guineas,” “Temporary Amnesia –
100 guineas,” “Mind Wipe – 200 guineas,” and the like. In the window are
displayed a whole series of model heads like those of mannequins, painted with
phrenological diagrams. A humming human woman with a severe grey bun, Griselda Flex, is the proprietor of the
shop; its interior is filled with charts and models both mundane and magical,
all of brains, skulls, and heads from a wide variety of species, including all
the sentient species of Hex. She can cast Modify
Memory and variants of the spell for the prices advertised outside.
Dr. Murgatroyd’s Cures & Curses: Judging from the somewhat anguished noises emanating from within, this decrepit medical establishment is not quite up to the standards of the physicians in Caulchurch or Ambery. Inside is a dirty waiting room with incredibly gruesome and dubiously accurate anatomical dolls that can be disassembled and reassembled. Dr. Murgatroyd himself is here at all times of the day and night – a gnome man with tinted glasses, generally clad in a soaking crimson coat and carrying a serrated saw, clockwork drill, or some similarly macabre medical instrument.
Dr. Murgatroyd sells discount Potions of Healing (Common) for 40 gp each, though in addition to healing 2d4+2 hit points they have a 50% chance of having a bizarre side effect. Roll 1d6:(1) begin growing a third arm with a mouth on its palm that speaks in an uncanny version of your voice – when fully formed, the arm detaches, dealing 1 damage, and goes its own way; (2) your stomach murmurs in dead languages for 24 hours, creating disadvantage on Stealth checks; (3) you are blinded for 24 hours but experience bizarre visions of what may be the distant future, gaining Inspiration; (4) every orifice begins bleeding slowly, dealing 1 hit point of damage per hour for the next 1d20 hours; (5) you begin puking torrents of slippery fish (treat as the Grease spell) for one minute; (6) your teeth have turned to gold, permanently – each is worth 5gp if extracted, but eating can be a bit tricky.
Queen’s Crimson: This large reagent shop is often visited by reputable mages throughout Hex, albeit in magical disguise. It openly sells many prohibited alchemical reagents such as human kidneys, dagonian eggs, waspkin wings, vampire blood, and gorgongas. There are even globules containing captive puddleweirds, which can be hurled like living grenades. The proprietress is Angelique Duvide, a tall, skeleton-thin changeling woman with a too-wide smile and eyes that don’t ever seem to blink.
The Tailfeather Fops
Perhaps the most ridiculous gang in Corvid Commons, the Tailfather Fops are a collection of well-dressed footpads with pretensions of sophistication. An independent gang with ties to the Ravenswing Thieves’ Guild, they nonetheless pay a cut of their income to the Crowsbeak Thieves’ Guild to continue operating. They specialize in robbing shops in richer parts of town, blending in with the well-dressed crowds and artfully stuffing goods into the many pockets of their elaborate frock coats. In other instances they have been known to hold up carriages and wagons, adorning their faces with masks of porcelain or papier-mâché. The Fops – led by the sighing philosopher-thief Theophilus Grubby-Hook – are sworn enemies of the Stench a few streets over, and their bloody skirmishes have interrupted many a night’s sleep.
The Bonesaw Boys
Clad in the beaked masks and antique robes of old-fashioned plague doctors and wielding an eclectic range of repurposed medical equipment, the vicious Bonesaw Boys are brutal cutthroats sworn to the Crowsbeak Thieves’ Guild. They operate throughout the Commons and surrounding districts, ambushing lone pedestrians at night and harvesting their organs, which they sell to Dr. Murgatroyd on Widdershins Way, or to unlicensed reanimators like the Marionettist. The leader of the Bonesaw Boys is a sentient tumour known as the Goiter, excised after it kills its previous host, inevitably some wretched sod who owed the Boys money, and forcibly implanted into a fresh victim. Apart from the Bloodworms they are the most feared of the Crowsbeak vassal-gangs, though they prefer to take their victims alive, for experimentation. Their hideout is off Cruel Claw Alley.
Alabastor Quan, a gnome rogue-turned-warlock and failed circus ringmaster; wielder of a cursed dagger and member of the Ravenswing Thieves’ Guild.
Armand Percival Reginald Francois Eustace de la Marche III, a suspiciously pale, apparently human noble and sorcerer, and certainly not a ghoul (how dare such a thing be suggested).
Caulis, a homunculus warlock liberated from its master; has made a pact with certain Faerie Powers.
Comet the Unlucky, waspkin ranger, a dreamer and an idealist, longing for the restoration of the Elder Trees and the liberation of his people. Loathes the Harvester’s Guild, parasites and destroyers.
Garvin Otherwise, a human rogue and burglar of the Ravenswing Thieves’ Guild, with a very, very peculiar past and a zoog pet, Lenore.
An ancient and enigmatic Lengian cleric of the Mother of Spiders, name unknown. She wears bulky ecclesiastical garments covering an uncertain number of limbs and goes by “Sister.”
Yam, an eccentric gnome illusionist and local graduate student at Umbral University. Yam cares little for money. Yam is curious. Yam is Yam.
XP Awarded: 1500 XP
The party had discovered fell news indeed – that the spectral city of Penumbra, returned out of the mists of the Ethereal Plane to haunt its destroyers, had manifested on the slopes of Mount Shudder, and had been the force behind the evil winter that had wracked Hex earlier in the year, and the attempt to barrage Hex with tidal waves by disrupting the sleep of Genial Jack. Having thwarted these attempts – and the efforts of Penumbra to obtain the Book of Ghosts from the Catacombs beneath the Gilded Graveyard – the party took a breath, seeing to other matters that had gone unattended.
First, the party allocated the funds obtained by the auction of magic items in Jackburg, providing these funds to Cogswright & Associates in Mainspring so that they could begin construction of a vessel in order to sail amidst the Outer Spheres in the Luminiferous Aether.
The gnomish illusionist Yam, meanwhile, was noting the bizarre permutations the Book of Chaos was wreaking upon their apartment. Alabastor – currently a ghost, possessing his own corpse – had learned to summona new familiar, an owl named “Owlistair CrOwley.” An odd name… but there were many odd things in Faerie, from whence the owl appeared, a servant of the mischievous Queen Mab, with whom Alabastor had forged an eldritch contract. Sister passed some time with Parethena Quell in Jackburg, admiring the Coral Fortress. Caulis, having put Hargrym’s soul to rest, enjoyed a few moments’ peace, its tower no longer haunted. Armand, meanwhile, busied himself with more of his strange botanical experiments in his greenhouse, concocting antitoxins and exploring the possibility of vivimancy, much as his counterpart had in the alternate universe he had briefly visited. Garvin was pondering his own mysteries, looking into the suspicious activities of the Horned League of Behemoth Bend, the cambion thieves’ guild of western Hex who, he believed, might have been observing the party’s behaviour…
It is to Comet, however – Comet the Unlucky, magister-cursed to suffer a headache in the presence of Sap from the Elder Trees, Comet the impassioned and stout-hearted – that we turn our attention. Comet, having been harangued out of his home by Crowsbeak enforcers, had settled in the Feypark, sleeping rough among the trees and animals of that place. Due to the park’s vicinity to Faerie, the animals of the park had acquired the ability to speak, and many had their own secret villages and outposts. Comet was busy introducing some of the waspkin from the Thirteenth Queen’s Hive to his animal-friends when a squirrel approached him, hopping along the ground at great speed. He was clad in elaborate livery and wore a plumed helmet and a sword at his waist.
“Comet!” the squirrel declared. “Protector of the woodland. Champion of the under-trodden. Friend of the forest. The Princess Elaine Longtail begs an audience with you, on a matter of greatest urgency!”
“An audience with me?” Comet said. He had been telling the forest-creatures tales of the party’s adventures for some time. “I’m sure I’m happy to meet with her. What seems to be the problem?”
“We cannot speak of it here!” the squirrel declared. “Too many ears may be listening… but please, bring your friends, the great heroes you have spoken of so many times! We have great need of your aid!”
Comet’s waspkin friends at the Hive, at his request, flitted out throughout the city with messages to members of the Variegated Company, gathering them to the Feypark. A short time later they approached the glade where Comet was living.
The squirrel herald led thr group down a winding path and into the depths of the Feypark. Asthey moved closer to the park’s center, the manicured lawns and flower-beds became increasingly overgrown, giving way to rambling woodland. Soft music seemed to play from somewhere distant, and the trees rustled with a too-intelligent susurrus.
Presently, they came to a wild clearing next to an iridescent pool. A massive old tree stump mouldered near the water’s edge; as they drew close, they saw it was encrusted with miniature fortifications, squirrel-sized. Approaching, the party was met with a sudden, bristling mass of squirrels on the battlements, longbows and slings at the ready, tiny arrows and pebbles nocked.
“Lower your arms!” the herald cried. “I come with friends from beyond the park!”
Presently, the gates of the fortress opened, and another squirrel emerged, dressed in a fine gown and bearing a sceptre.
“May I present Her Royal Highness, Princess Elaine Longtail!” the herald proclaimed, while troubadours blew a fanfare from tiny trumpets.
The party politely introduced themselves. Yam was rapt with delight.
“They’re SQUIRRELS!” they said.
“Your Highness,” Comet said. “My companions and I are here to aid you. How can we be of assistance?”
“We came here to help… squirrels?” Armand muttered to Garvin.
“This seems interesting,” the thief replied. “Give them a chance to say what this is about.”
“Word has reached me of your deeds,” the Princess squeaked. “I humbly beseech thee on behalf of my people for your aid in a matter of great urgency.”
“What ails you, your Highness?” Sister asked.
“The Royal Seat of Knothole Manor has been seized by the forces of the salamander-warlord Urdox the Slimy and his wicked fairy allies,” Princess Longtail said. “With foul enchantments and an army of vicious insects, lizards, mercenary sewer-rats, and other vile creatures, Urdox assailed the Manor and took my father, Grand Duke Richard Longtail, hostage and prisoner. I was able to flee with what remains of our forces, but many good beasts were slaughtered in the battle. I believe that the salamander lord is in league with the evil Faerie Lord Arawn, who seeks the destruction and decay of the park and all living things within it. Noble Comet, I beg your assistance in cleansing Knothole Manor of Urdox and his minions. Should you perform this deed, it will be necessary for you to assume a form suitable for entering the Manor – for if Urdox were to see you approach in your current form, my father’s life might well be forfeit. A drink from yonder pool shall render you and any boon companions into the shape of beasts, able to enter Knothole Manor stealthily.
“As reward for this deed, apart from the gratitude of my people, my father will grant you lands and titles commensurate with your valour, for many noble-beasts were slain in the battle, leaving their lands lordless.”
After some discussion, the party agreed to help Princess Longtail to rescue her father and defeat the loathsome Urdox. One by one, the group drank of the magical pool, and one by one they assumed new shapes.
Alabastor became a rat, a bit tattered but dapper all the same; he remained undead, a cadaverous vermin. His new owl familiar hooted in surprise at the sight of his master transformed into such a tasty treat. Armand became a hawk, imperious and regal, sharp of eye and talon; Comet transformed into mole-form. Sister expected to become a spider, but instead found herself transformed into a rabbit; it was Garvin, instead, who assumed a spider’s shape. Yam blinked huge eyes, having transformed into a bush baby, while Caulis transformed into a bristling hedgehog. Eleyin was delighted to be larger than her master, capable now of bearing Caulis into battle.
Shrunk down – their garments and equipment sprinkled with water from the pool to similarly diminish them, temporarily – the party conferred in the squirrel fortress, debating an approach to Knothole Manor via air or underground tunnel. They They settled on a subterannean approach, mole sappers having dug into the roots of the great tree. They reviewed a map of the Manor:
The plan would be to enter via the dungeons amidst the roots of the manor, then work their way upwards through the Barbican and into the upper levels if needed. Sister prepared a portal in the squirrel fortress using the Portal Chalk, so that later they could let the squirrel forces in, and a signal would be given via magical fireworks to coordinate an attack from the air. So agreed, the party traveled through the dank underground passage dug by the mole. Comet himself breached the final layer of dirt with his newly-acquired mole-talons.
The tunnel opened into a dark, dripping cave with walls of earth. Roots protruding from the ceiling sipped from a dank, stagnant puddle that occupied most of the floor, fed by a leaking storm-drain that bisected the cavern. At the far end, a series of carved steps led up to a stout, round door. Scum covered the surface of the stagnant pond.
Comet examined the pond carefully. “There’s something moving down there,” he whispered to his companions. “Be careful in getting across.”
“I have an idea,” Armand said. “Yam, you know Ray of Frost, yes?”
“Mhm. I see where you’re going with this.”
Together, the two mages began freezing the surface of the pond to create an ice-bridge. Yam conjured a pair of skates and began skating down the bridge, humming to themselves.
For a moment, the graceful Yam seemed poised to elegantly skate the length of the ice-bridge – until a spear hurtled from the gloom, knocking the gnome of their feet and into the filthy water! Three toads burst from the water, sentinels dispatched to guard the lower levels, and a fierce fight ensued, spells and spears flying. One toad leaped on its powerful legs and swallowed Sister whole. The beleagured rabbit cast Inflict Wounds and burst out from the toad in a shower of gore and necrotized tissue. Meanwhile, Alabastor’s familiar slew another, and the last was felled with a Cloud of Daggers that reduced it to shreds before it could raise the alarm.
“Sister’s Unexpected Toad Exit.” llustration by Bronwyn McIvor.
The lower-level guards dispatched, the party caught their breath and healed their wounds, collecting a brass key from one of the toads. The party climbed a flight of stairs, up towards the dungeons of Thornwall Barbican. First they discovered some a chamber filled with crates and chests – stores and supplies for Knothole Manor, as well as the castle’s archives. They pressed on and discovered the dungeon itself, the walls made of roch to prevent burrowing animals from escaping. A dozen cells with bars fashioned from nails or other metal oddments lined the rough-hewn corridor. Within the cells were animals – mice, squirrels, voles, and the odd rabbit. There were perhaps twenty of them all in all.
“Ah! Were you sent by the Princess?” one of the squirrels said.
“Yes!” Comet replied. “We’re here to help retake the fortress. We’ve got a key – hold on.”
The brass key taken from the toads proved efficacious, and the captured castle guards and servants were freed. They would need to be equipped with weapons to be truly useful, but at least the party now had a proper force inside Knothole Manor.
Alabastor and Garvin scouted stealthily ahead, aided by shadows woven about them by Sister. They crept through the winding dungeon halls, roots protruding from the walls and ceiling, and discovered the gaolor: a fat, glossy centipede, a key-ring hooked round one of its many limbs, coiled up and sleeping. Garvin fired a Bolt of Silence to plunge the room into silence, and he and Alabastor assailed it, battering the vermin badly. It initially fought back, snapping its poisonous chelicerae, but eventually put up its numerous arms in surrender. The pair confiscated its keys and stuck it in one of the newly-emptied cells.
“Where is the Grand Duke being held?” Garvin asked, his hand crossbow trained on the creature.
“In the Greenkeep!” the centipede hissed, suitably intimidated. “Up in the highest tower, under guard by Keenfang the serpent.”
The Variegated Company continued their ascent, moving stealthily through its tunnels. They entered a dank chamber with roots curling from the ceiling, blocking advancement to the upper levels of Knothole Manor. A pair of lizards with halberds fashioned from pen-knife blades guarded a portcullis, its crank to one side. Comet, undetected, loosed an arrow, dispatching one lizard instantly as it struck him in the throat and pinned him to the wall. The other, pelted by spells and crossbow bolts, was beaten unconscious and tied up in a corner.
Sister scrawled a portal using the Portal Chalk, opening a door back to the squirrel outpost, telling the troops gathered there to await the order and to prepare weapons to arm the freed prisoners.
The party continued through the dungeons. They found a cellar, wooden kegs and barrels stacked along its walls, along with other receptacles – including several human-sized bottles and similar containers, stolen or scavenged from the world above. Along one wall an entire bottle of champagne was still stoppered. Three drunken lizard guards had tapped a bottle of Sarcophagus Pale Ale from Bier Brewing in Shambleside. In their intoxicated state they were easily dispatched and taken prisoner.
Garvin used his Gloves of Thief’s Sight to investigate a nearby chamber. He discovered a barracks in some disarray – bunks and tables scattered about or tipped over, bloodstains still spattering the floor. Weapons and armour were heaped in piles around the chamber, many made from penknives, nails, and other oddments. Lizards and amphibians filled it, sharpening weapons and coraking to one another. He crept to the next room, discovering three mangy-furred sewer-rats wielding tridents fashioned from dining forks lounging about a table playing cards here, betting using tiny shards of glass and miniscule gold coins. Their leader joined them at the head of the table: a towering rat whose ears were adorned with rings and whose pink eyes glowed in the gloom. Leaning against one wall was her weapon – a kitchen knife, which she uses as a greatsword.
The thief described the towering rat to the captives.
“That’ll be Julia,” a rabbit said. “Julia Bloodwhisker. Head of the Stormrats – mercenaries Urdox hired. They live in the sewers under the Feypark.”
“I have an idea,” Alabastor said. “Are there any other leaders in the Manor? Factions within Urdox’s forces?”
“There’s Tatterwing,” the rabbit said. “A pseudodragon, sent by Arawn. And Mugwort, a sprite in Urdox’s services. And, I suppose, Duskjaw, the monitor lizard, a foreign warrior. He claims to be from the desert of the distant south, but he’s probably just escaped from some magician’s menagerie.”
“That’ll work,” Alabastor said. “You take up a position in the cellars. I’m going to try and lure them down.”
Alabastor entered the chamber; as a rat, he reasoned, he would not be immediately suspicious.
“Brought some rations,” he said, putting several cursed plums supplied by Armand’s greenhouse. “Oh and, ah, Tatterwing wants to see you,” he added, lacing the words with a hint of magical Suggestion.
“Hmph, the bat wants to see me, he can come down himself,” Julia hissed. “What regiment are you with, anyway?”
“Uh… I…” Alabastor stumbled. He pushed out mentally, trying to possess the rat-mercenary, but her mind repelled him; his body had crumpled to the ground, and the rats clustered around it in confusion. Flitting back to his cadaverous form, Alabastor drew a deep breath, sitting up, his eyes ablaze, his Fey Presence giving him a look of macabre gravitas. “I am a servant of the Faerie King of Death, Arawn!” he proclaimed. “Flee before me!”
“Ugh,” Julia said. “One of Mugwort’s stupid pranks. That foolish fairy will rue the day… I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.” He stomped off upwards, heading for Mugwort.
Alabastor, meanwhile, glanced slyly at the remaining guards. “Hey,” he said. “Now that your boss is gone, you boys fancy a drink? We broached a cask down in the cellar.”
The rat-mercenaries looked from one to the other, waiting for Julia’s footsteps to recede, then followed Alabastor into the cellar…
…where the party and their animal soldiers awaited, the champagne bottle aimed at the door. With a deafening pop the cork flew across the cellar, breaking the neck of the first of the Stormrats!
The rest of the mercenaries were swiftly dispatched by the assembled forces. While the forces loyal to the Princess and Grand Duke Richard Longtail got into position to fully take the Barbican, the Variegated Company ascended to Heartwood Hall.
The party entered a vast hall near the heart of the tree, illuminated by occasional window and phosphorescent fungi, stretching upward. At its centre, the core of the tree – the heartwood – was still intact. Stairs wound up the ornately carved wooden walls, leading to workshops along the sides of the hall, including a smithy and carpenter’s shop. The stair continued to climb up to a hole in the ceiling, leading to the Squirrel Cotts above. Marring the heartwood itself was a dark stain, spreading slowly from a wound in its side.
Caulis investigated the stain. It appeared to be fungal rot, seeping into the wood, tendrils of disease winding up the tree.
“I don’t like this…” Caulis said.
“Let me see what I can do,” Sister said, ministering to the tree carefully. She cast a healing spell, and some of the stain retreated, restoring some of the tree’s health.
Above them, flitting to and fro through Heartwood Hall were several mosquitoes, some bearing spears or crossbows – apparently drawn by the sound of the spell being cast. The party stealthily made their way into a nearby carpenter’s workshop off the main hall to avoid detection. Here they found a mess of tools and loose wood, thoroughly ransacked.
“Hmm,” Garvin said, eyeing the far wall. “There’s something odd about this shelf…” With a spidery limb, he pushed the shelf inwards, and it revolved – a secret door, leading to a stairway that wound up through the tree! The party hastened upwards, managing to avoid the mosquito guards of Heartwood Hall and the forces stationed in the Squirrrel Cotts, as the stair brought them all the way up to the Rotten Tower.
The passage opened into a small chamber behind a rotten arras. This the party dilsodged, finding themselves within a large chamber carved into the interior of the tree, which looked to have once been a resplendent hall of tapestries depicting the history of Knothole Manor and its inhabitants – the forging of treaties with local beasts, the hosting of Seelie fairies in the great hall, battles with rats from the sewers. One scene portrayed the Manor’s squirrel warriors defeating a human looking for a cheap meal, trussing him up with vines. However, fungal infestation had destroyed these beautiful hand-woven images, leaving them mottled and twisted, threads fraying and discoloured. Gigantic pink puffballs of mould protruded in bulbous clusters from the walls and ceiling, while fat red toadstools emerged from the floor.
Armand – fascinated as always by all things botanical – took a sample from one of the puffballs. Despite his care, the sorcerer caused the puffball to explode in a cloud of poisonous spores, causing the party to rapidly retreat. Several of the fungal puffballs were trembling strangely, as if they too would soon explode.
They entered a domed room which might once have been a ballroom or a dining chamber; teeming orange growths now utterly consumed it, eating away at the floor and walls. The ceiling and upper walls were covered in mucilaginous clusters of glossy white eggs. The bones of squirrels, mice, and other animals carpeted the floor of the room. Comet, in mole form, burrowed into the wall of the room, hoping to excavate a clearer path. The party followed, and the improvised passage brought them to an ornate mechanical elevator extending from this section of Knothole Manor upwards. However, vines and fungal growths had clotted the machinery, and the elevator was stuck in the shaft.
Yam, thinking quickly, rubbed some Salve of Sentience into the vines, awakening them to life.
“Hey, vines,” Yam said. “Uh, you mind moving out of the way?”
“Begone intruders!” The rustling, newly-sentient vines hissed. “Befoul Knothole Manor no more.”
“We’re in the service of Princess Longtail,” Yam said with great solemnity. “Please, we must ascend, if we are to cleanse the Manor of evil.”
The vines rustled to themselves, then, seemingly convinced, began to withdraw, allowing the elevator free acess to the upper levels. The party packed themselves inside and began their ascent.
The elevator came to a halt and the party stepped out from it and into an ancient-looknig structured. Moss had infiltrated the resplendent chapel of Knothole Manor – a shrine dedicated to the tree itself, whose image was carved our of the far wall. Small niches honoured other figures important to the Manor’s inhabitants, such as Titania, the Faerie Queen, and Oberon, her sometimes-husband and Lord of the Hunt; the Green Man, a nature god popular among the woodwoses in the Tangle, was here reproduced as a Green Mouse, fur transformed into moss and leaves. The pews here were totally overgrown with lichen.
Vines along the walls of the chapel had born succulent-looking berries of two types: orange and purple. Of these, Armand took careful samples.
The party set about exploring the other chamber of the Moss-Chapel. They soon discovered a chamber containing an ornate reliquary , overgrown with vines and lichen that seemed to spill out from the carved wood of the box. Several rotting corpses were snared in the vines – two sewer-rats and a lizard. Visible on the lizard’s body was a ring of keys. Carved on the wall was what looked like a series of musical notes. After several touch-and-go attempts, Garvin obtained the keys – a key with an acorn bow, another with a leaf bow, and a third with a mushroom bow – avoiding the grasping stranglevines that tried to snatch him.
Caulis, attempting an unusual tactic, distracting the stranglevines by disguising itself as a sensuous dryad, dancing lasciviously to attract the vines’ attention. The vines twitched, moving towards the alluring illusion, allowing Alabastor to swiftly open the box, plucking a simple wooden flute from within.
“Aha!” Caulis said, inspecting the instrument. “A Flute of the Forest – and this must be one of the tunes for it.” The homunculus gestured to the notes on the wall. “Play them, let’s see what they do!”
Alabastor played a brief tune, discovering that the Flute allowed him to Speak with Plants – though the vines were currently whispering “sweet nothings” to the illusion, to his mixed amusement and disgust.
The party also discovered a belfry with ornate stained glass windows depicting what looked like an army of trees, unrooting themselves from the ground and marching, animals held within their branches as they war with an enemy army of evil fairies. Hanging from the ceiling of the belfry was an ornate bell of copper hue, a crack running down it. A vine served as a bell-rope.
“I’ve heard of these,” Comet said. “A Verdurous Bell. They awaken the trees… best not to ring it save as a last resort.”
Searching the belfry, Alabastor turned up a few more notes for the Flute of the Forest – a different song.
The Company pressed on, discovering a guard-chamber with a stair leading up into the Greenkeep, sealed behind a portcullis. The gate guard was a towering monitor lizard – clearly not native to Hex – and his scorpion pet, infested with some sort of crimson fungus sprouting from its arachnid head. Theysurmised this was the brutish Duskjaw, mentioned by some of the prisoners.
Alabastor’s ghost discarded his body temporarily and possessed the scorpion, striking at Duskjaw. Yam, Armand, and Sister struck with spells, while Garvin and Comet sniped from the back. Duskjaw managed to strike several vicious blows, one sending Comet flying, but was overwhelmed before he could raise the alarm. The massive creature toppled and fell to the floor with a thud; they confiscated the Crown Key it bore. The party proceeded to the Greenkeep, stealthily creeping in shadows conjured by Sister’s shadowy spiders to avoid detection from Keenfang the serpent.
Two lizard guards with halberds were positioned at the door of the tallest tower. Alabastor – back in his rat-shape – distracted these by telling them that wine had been opened back in the guard barracks, and that he would cover for them. The deception accomplished, the remaining party members crept from the foliage and opened the door with the Crown Key, ascending a flight of spiral steps to the tower-top.
Within a cell at the very top of the tower, a bedraggled, aging squirrel with grey fur and an august mien sat on the edge of a small cot, clad in tattered garments unbefitting his noble bearing. This was obviously none other than Duke Richard Longtail himself, kept as a hostage.
“Your Grace,” Sister said with a bow. “Your daughter sent us to rescue you. Her forces await our signal to retake Knothole Manor.”
The squirrel duke stirred from his meditation, fire in his eyes. “Then by all means, give it! We shall fight the scaly bastards off yet!”
Yam proceeded to ignite magical fireworks from the tower-top, while Sister, sketching a chalk portal, gave the signal to attack.
Fierce battle was joined, the freed prisoners in Thornwall Barbican battling with the Stormrats and other mercenaries below, while a crack force of squirrel commandos poured into the Greenkeep through the portal, supported by robin cavalry. The tree of Knothole Manor shook as swords and spears struck shields. The squeaks and croaks of battle echoed through its hollow halls, the blood of toads, lizards, rats, squirrels, voles, and rabbits mingling. Insects swarmed, directed by the sinister Mugwort, though when the battle was finished, the strange fairy creature was nowhere to be found. Vines – directed by Alabastor’s Flute – strangled many foes in the Moss-Chapel.
Eventually, the battle brought the Company and a ragtag band of animal warriors to the centre of the Greenkeep. The remains of the Grand Hall dripped with slime, the tapestries on the walls sloughing into putridity, stagnant water pooling on the floor. Presiding over this decay was a massive crimson salamander, clad in rusted plate armour that looked like it might have been made for a particularly elaborate Hexian puppet. He was accompanied by two bodyguards: a lean, albino rabbit with pink eyes and a massive slingshot, and a malignant, hulking fey – though less than two feet in height, at this scale the insect-winged brute was a towering presence. A massive map of the Feypark, marked with stones to indicate armies, occupied the middle of the Grand Hal, while a force of lizards and sewer-rats bristled with weapons, the last of Urdox’s troops.
“FOR THE FOREST!” Comet cried, swinging his hammer, Chainbreaker and cracking skulls, his dancing rapier skewering troops to either side.
“Arawn take you!” the salamander cursed, drawing a small magical dagger – at this scale, the size of a gigantic claymore – and wading into battle, immediately decapitating a squirrel warrior rushing towards him.
Yam filled the mind of the hare with visions of torment, and the creature quite literally “bounced” – dropping its weapon and fleeing.
Sister and Alabastor waded in with spells. Conjured spiders burst from swelling buboes everywhere the spider-cleric touched. Blasts of eldritch force tore enemies apart, blood spilling across the map of the Feypark. Armand seared and electrocuted, reducing Stormrats to ash.
Garvin, lurking in the shadows, fired a poisoned bolt, wounding Urdox badly under the arm.
Caulis, seeing the sprite attacking Yam, conjured illusory vines; the sprite believed itself entangled and thrashed, unable to escape the grasp of the tendrils in his mind.
Comet, meanwhile, closed in for the kill. He hammered at Urdox repeatedly, Chainbreaker uttering revolutionary slogans, Comet cursing the salamander tyrant. Urdox landed a terrible blow, nearly severing one of the ranger’s limbs. Another caught him in the torso, drawing blood. Undeterred, Comet darted round the side of the towering salamander, while Madame Sanguinaire, his dancing sword liberated from the armoury of Delirium Castle, fenced with Urdox, keeping him occupied long enough for Comet to launch himself at full speed, Chainbreaker swinging. With a mighty blow, the hammer shattered the knee of the salamander, bringing him to his knees. A second block cracked his skull, dashing his brains across the floor.
When the dust cleared, Urdox and his forces were dead, fled, or vanquished. As Grand Duke Longtail’s forces secured Knothole Manor once again, Caulis studied the map with some consternation. It seemed to show other trees in other parts of the Feypark, marked with a mysterious black mark – the sigil of Arawn.
“I fear this may not be the only tree assailed by Arawn,” Caulis muttered.
“Arawn?” Comet said.
“An Unseelie King. One of the four rulers of Faerie, along with Mab, Oberon, and Titania.”
“Hmm. A fight for another day, perhaps.”
In the meantime, however, rewards were in order. The Grand Duke had ordained that, given that several prominent nobles had been slain in the battles with Urdox, the party would be granted their vacant titles.
Yam was made Earl of the Pellucid Gazebo, a delicate structure made of glass deep in the Feypark, watched over by robins and other birds sworn to the Grand Duke.
Armand was made Earl of the Orchidarium, a large orchid garden nearby, tended by many voles.
Alabastor was made Baron of the Rosepatch, a rose garden home to many mice and shrews.
Sister was made Baroness of of the Viridian Maze, a hedge maze not far from Knothole Manor, home to numerous rabbits and moles.
Garvin was made Baron of Lilypad Isle, a tiny island in a pond nearby, with frog villages about its periphery.
Caulis was given a special title – Archbishop of the Manor, sworn to keep the realm protected from spiritual forces of darkness and decay.
Finally, Comet, hero of the day, would be made the Marquis of Westbridge: a small footbridge over a stream in the park to the west, encrusted with the structures of the squirrel-kingdom.
These rewards bestowed, their bellies full from the victory banquet, the Variegated Company departed the now-happy halls of Knothole Manor and returned to their previous forms and sizes, perhaps with a certain wistfulness. This chivalric romance in the Feypark was over. Penumbra, remnant of a dead empire, still menaced the spires of Hex.
The Company began walking through the forest paths, back into the city.
The first of several planned volumes of Genial Jack, a serialized setting about the whimsy, wonder, and weirdness of the sea and the strange things on and under it, is now available from Lost Pages Press in print and as a PDF.
Paolo Greco and I have been in cahoots for some time now with an eye to publish content for the Hex campaign world (including a guide for Hex itself, at which I am hard at work). Genial Jack and the city of Jackburg are a perfect entry point, since sweet, sublime Jack can easily be transplanted into other mileus, arriving to whisk characters away to hither and yon.
The first volume – with a magnificent cover illustration by Bronwyn McIvor, who plays in the campaign as Caulis the homuncular warlock – consists of a gazetteer of Jackburg, the symbiotic city within and upon Genial Jack, the Godwhale, who roams the strange seas of the world rescuing shipwrecked sailors and swallowing oceanic monsters menacing beleagured islands. The myriad peoples, government, laws, criminal organizations, and districts of Jackburg are detailed.
Like Hex itself, Genial Jack draws its influences from the fantasy of the 17th and 18th centuries – Gulliver’s Travels, the adventures of Baron Munchausen, The Blazing World, New Atlantis, salon-era fairy tales – and from New Weird urban fantasy like the Bas-Lag trilogy and K.J. Bishop’s The Etched City. Wheellocks, sailing ships, social satire, chimerical monsters, allegory, swordfights, manners, teeming cityscapes, metaphyics, oddball pirates, eccentric islanders, flotsam and jetsam.
It can be grotesque and often horrible – a future volume is going to take us into the parasite-ridden brachiations of Jack’s Entrails – but it’s not grimdark; there’s absuridity and humour layered in with the macabre and the loathsome. There may be moments of bleakness, even Lovecraftian dread of the deep, but at its heart this is a baroque yarn, a jaunty, maximalist smorgasbord of oddities. Indeed, Genial Jack originated as an attempt to make a kind of anti-Cthulhu – an impossibly ancient sea-monster who happens to be really lovely, actually. Not everyone who lives atop or within him is quite so savoury, of course…
As a brief preview, here’s a handful of NPCs from the random table in the Appendix:
Roll 1d6:
Yod Sprungly, a bone-thin human charm-peddler usually found in Borborygmus Bazaar hawking pickled gorgon eyes, hands of glory, coatl feathers, and many other magical objects, though a good handful may be non-magical curiosities he passes off as eldritch.
Jagged, a saw-nosed selachian lawyer and duelist-for-hire who fights with a pair of serrated blades similar to the organic jag on his face. Outside of his profession defending clients in the courtroom or on the piste, he’s a good-natured, jovial fellow, often found volunteering in the orphanage of Flotsamville.
Mercy Hectic, a criminal hiding in Finfolkaheem, guilty of sacrilege – a Jacksblood addict, she has been permanently warped by consuming the Godwhale’s holy ichor, and now towers a prodigious eight feet tall, with twisted, grotesquely muscular limbs. She brims with puissance and can spit spells as a 5th level sorcerer.
Glumswell, one of the blobfolk, deep-sea merfolk from the Abyssal Realms of the ocean floor; an assassin of tremendous skill known for his talent with poisons who wandered the seas killing for hire, he has retired to Jackburg and now runs a darling little shop selling decorative sea anemones in Bellyborough.
Penelope Scrimp, a human witch from the arcane metropolis of Hex, exiled for magical crimes involving an alchemical experiment gone terribly wrong; evidence of this can be seen in the way that half of her body is a metamorphic plasm capable of assuming a plethora of bizarre shapes.
Guinevere du Ys, last scion of the nobility of Ys, which sank beneath the waves a thousand years past; some its descendants survived and were swallowed by Jack. Though human, she has some Faerie blood, discernable in her subtly green-hued hair and complexion. Though technically royalty, her family’s fortune is long gone, and she makes her living as a callused dockworker in Mawtown, drinking and brawling with common folk.
